


Merlot and Sake

by catisacat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drunk and Wielding Weapons, F/M, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catisacat/pseuds/catisacat
Summary: Ostracized by their peers and their abilities constantly compared, Widowmaker and Hanzo strike up an odd friendship.One night, by the grace of alcohol, they decide to find out which of them truly is the better sniper.





	Merlot and Sake

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first male/female fic I've ever written that didn't involve one half of the pairing being dead. A momentous occasion.
> 
> Didn't even make it through the whole story without making a joke about French being a hell language when it comes to pronunciation.

To say Hanzo and Widowmaker’s transition into Overwatch was smooth would be a lie.

Hanzo caught the looks. Friends of Genji’s, regarding him coldly at best, hatefully at worst.

The blonde doctor’s disdain as she gave him his mandatory physical. The flying soldier and her mother, leaning closer as they whispered something about him with cautious stares. The huge cowboy glaring him down, wordlessly warning him not to hurt Genji again.

Widowmaker had it just as bad. While Lena was willing to give her another shot most were not as open. Not only had she killed Gérard but she’d mutilated Ana as well.

The fearful eye of the old woman watched her carefully, hand over the sleep dart strapped to her side. The grouchy old man lurking in corners with her daughter, both performing maintenance on their guns while making very pointed eye contact with her. The significantly more terrifying old man, a gentle giant to everyone but her, stomping around in his massive armor with his one good eye following her every move.

Even when they’d first met they warily regarded each other even with no connection to injured parties.

It didn’t help that people heavily debated which of them was the better sniper.

But they’d managed to find each other in friendly company anyways.

After only a few days it was like they were attached at the hip. Sure, people talked as they walked next to each other but now? Now they had someone to be catty with right back.

“Who does the old man think he is kidding? On the battlefield, he’d be dead before he could even see us,” Widowmaker would smile, waving away Soldier’s watchful eye.

Hanzo would laugh back, “She thinks she could best you? Her rockets are nothing to your scope. She’d fall easily, like mother like daughter.”

This, of course, made the others even more uncomfortable.

Even Genji and Lena balked a little under these comments, despite Widowmaker and Hanzo insisting that they were nothing but jokes. But they weren’t here right now, none of them. Not the judging eyes, not the people who had vouched for them.

Just a couple of snipers, far off the ground, clinking glasses in the bright moonlight.

“I have to admitted, mon amie, I have never tried sake,” she said, looking down at the clear liquid in her glass.

Hanzo looked down at the merlot in his hand, “I am not a stranger to yours though. Although, perhaps, not as vintage as this. How do you say ‘cheers’ in French?”

“It’s ‘à la tienne’.”

Hanzo poorly mimicked it back at her, “Alla chen.”

“Non, non. Again, ‘à la tienne’.”

His second attempt was even worse than the first, “Ah la chien.”

Widowmaker only laughed, “What is it in Japanese then?”

Raising his glass again, “Kanpai.”

“Much easier,” she smiled, clinking the glasses together again, “Kanpai.”

They both downed their glasses alarmingly fast, trading glasses before refilling and repeating. Perhaps the taste of downing one then the other wasn’t fantastic but neither of them really seemed to care.

As they poured the third round for each other, glasses traded again, Hanzo spoke, “Do you ever think they will accept us?”

No clarification on who he meant was needed as she answered, “Me, perhaps. Talon’s brainwashing in consideration. You… you, mon amie, will have a harder time.”

“Are we really that different though?” he asked, staring at the reflection in the red liquid in his glass, “While I was the one who did it, others pulled my strings as well.”

“I know,” she murmured, “But they do not. They see it as different.”

Sighing, he drank some more.

He jumped at the sudden, ice cold hand on his bare shoulder. It hesitated back at that but Widowmaker opted to commit, leaving it there as she spoke, “If it is a consolation to you, I will have your back.”

“They try to pit us against each other.”

“To be fair, you started that.”

Remembering back to his offhand statement when they’d first met. Something about him taking his bow over her sniper rifle any day. Tact is not Hanzo’s strong suit.

They mulled that over in silence for a few more drinks. Both of their favorite thing about each other was the fact they were just content to sit in silence sometimes. A break from the constant chatter from the overly friendly members of Overwatch.

Moonlight drowned the open air shooting range beneath them. Previously, the sniper perch they found themselves curled up in was exclusively Ana’s and the old lady didn’t really seem happy about having to share it with a couple of murderers.

Honestly? Neither of them were entirely sure how they were going to make it down the ladder this drunk.

Experimentally trying to stand, Hanzo bumped into the rack behind him. There was a clatter as the extra bows fell onto the ground. Swearing, he started picking them up. Widowmaker plucked one up thought, examining it.

“They always want to know which of us is the better sniper,” she said, a smile creeping onto her face, “Why don’t we know between just ourselves?”

Not even giving him a chance to answer, she clicked open the gun case next to his bow rack. Running a hand over the contents she skipped Ana’s sniper rifles and grabbed one of her own. Hanzo next to her chose one of the sturdier practice bows.

“What are the parameters?” Hanzo asked, fishing out a quiver as well.

“Ten targets, ten shots,” she simply replied, waving a hand over the field below them, “One after another. And after each? We take a another shot of our drinks.”

Nodding, he whipped out an arrow and managed to perfectly land it in the center of the first one despite his drunkenness. Widowmaker let out an appreciative whistle before immediately jerking her sniper rifle up and quick scoped. The arrow lodged in the target exploded into a rain of splinters as her bullet hit exactly the same spot.

The look he gave her was one of appreciation, devoid of surprise.

Both nodded as they downed more alcohol and really got into this competition.

Their second target was largely the same, but the arrow less destroyed.

Third, both managed to hit the center, slightly off.

Fourth, barely hitting the middle circle.

Fifth, they were outside the circle.

Sixth, shots strayed to halfway off the target.

Seventh, both were veering off completely.

Eighth, barely on the edge.

Ninth, hitting the wall behind it.

Tenth, straight into the ground.

A perfect tie either way. No winner, no loser.

Laughter, growing more loose and sloppy, was the backdrop to this and they got more and more drunk. Teetering, Hanzo nearly fell headlong out of the small, enclosed sniper nest.

With difficulty, Widowmaker grabbed him and managed to get his feet underneath him. He was heavy hanging off her shoulders, his short, bulky frame pulling her down to his level. It suddenly struck her that this was the closest she’d been to another person in many, many years. Also that it didn’t seem like he was in any rush to get off her.

She patted his chest, “Be careful. I doubt I can support your full weight and I don’t like your chances falling off this tower.”

“A dragon always lands on his feet,” he slurred in response, laughing slightly at his own joke.

“I am fairly certain you have that turn of phrase wrong.”

For a second they stayed like that, neither of them tremendously certain of what to do in this situation.

Eventually Hanzo relented though, standing up on his own. Looking out at the moon high above he wondered if they should try and get to bed. Nothing was scheduled for tomorrow but he had a feeling staying up later would only make their hangovers worse.

But before he could voice these concerns he felt a cold hand on his chest. Looking down in surprise he found Widowmaker clumsily trying to remove the quiver.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Despite barely keeping her legs underneath herself, Widowmaker managed to get it off before immediately swinging it over her own torso. It was completely oversized on her but it was nothing compared to how comically large the bow looked in her hands.

“I reiterate. What are you doing?”

“True test,” she said, shoving her own sniper rifle into his hands.

Despite being drunk already, he got her meaning instantly. She was making it easy by experimentally trying to place an arrow on the bow. Badly imitating how she’d seen Hanzo do it before.

Moving to stand behind her, he corrected her grip and placement, “You’ll shoot your own foot that way, more like this.”

Nudging him back with her shoulder, “Tch, this will be no problem.”

But it was. Immediately, as she tried to pull back the arrow, it became obvious she didn’t have the upper body strength for this.

With difficulty, she pulled it back as far as she could and let it fly.

The arrow barely even reached a third of the way to the target, sticking straight out of the ground like a flag dedicated to her failure.

Widowmaker smacked Hanzo in the tit as he laughed at her, “Oh, you think you are so high and mighty?”

“This may be a bit unfair. I doubt you’ve ever even held a bow let alone fired one before. However, I’ve fired a gun before.”

“Have you now?” Widowmaker questioned, awkwardly leaning against the wall.

“It was a part of our self defense training, to disarm someone and fire their own weapon at them.”

Of course, these exercises had involved smaller handguns. Not a gun this large and powerful.

Confidently, Hanzo raised the sniper rifle and fiddled around with it for a second before managing to extend the scope. He gave her a confident smile and held it up unnaturally, away from his body.

Widowmaker tried to interrupt his arrogance, reaching out to correct his grip as he had for her, “Wait, if you hold it like that the knockback will-”

Too drunk to care Hanzo lined up the shot and fired.

His mistake and its consequences were immediate as the sniper rifle kicked back and smashed right into his eye.

A stream of angry Japanese came spilling out of his mouth as he dropped the gun in shock and pain. Immediately, Widowmaker looked for the first aid kit knowing that Dr. Ziegler kept a small cooler full of ice packs all over this godforsaken watchpoint.

Finding it, she found them useless. Not changed enough to be even remotely cold. Hell, her own skin was icier than this useless…

“Here,” she said, trying not to laugh at she raised one of her frigid hands and placed it carefully over his injured eye. He covered her small, icy hand with his own normal one to hold it in place.

Surprisingly, it was actually cold enough to help.

As the surprise of pain wore off, Hanzo became acutely aware of how ridiculous they looked.

Simultaneously, Widowmaker realized how silly her solution was.

Letting go of her hand, Hanzo looked back towards the ladder, “Should we try and make it to the doctor’s office? Borrow some of Miss Ziegler’s supplies?”

“Non,” Widowmaker answered, shaking her head, “Do you want a broken leg on top of a black eye? I think we’re going to have to sleep up here, mon amie.”

Hanzo wanted to protest sleeping on the rough wooden floor but also knew he was way too drunk to really fight this. He let her help him down to the ground, their only padding being some of the mats stored up here. Extra discomfort on top of the ache in his eye.

Already halfway to sleep, he was jolted awake by a sudden coldness on the bare half of his chest. Looking down, he found Widowmaker making herself comfortable there.

Immediately he spat out, “I can pull up the other half of my-”

“Non, this is more than fine,” she interrupted, patting his chest with her hand. Cheeky smile on her lips.

For a quiet second she thought he’d passed out from drinking but he spoke again after a while, “Are you really okay with this?”

“Believe me, I have slept much worse places than this.”

“Not that. This.”

The gesture to the two of them lying there was vague but enough that she understood.

“Why would I not be?”

The look he gave her was incredulous, “I killed my brother.”

“I killed my husband, you’re the one playing with fire here and despite what you say- you’re no dragon.”

“Association with fire is more typical of Western dragons, not Eastern ones usually.”

He pointed at his tattoo with the clouds and lightning bolts twisting behind the dragon.

“Semantics,” she laughed, “Either way, if either of us has anything to worry about it is not me. And frankly? I don’t intend to repeat what happened to Gérard. We’ll be fine.”

“People will talk.”

“They already talk.”

Both accepting the situation, they fell almost immediately into a near coma like sleep. Hanzo taking slightly longer than Widowmaker, his eye threatening that he was going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. Curled up together on the worn out wood of the sniper perch.

\- - -

When neither of them had been in their bunks in the morning, a panic spread.

The two of the dodgiest members of Overwatch go missing at the same time? Suspicious as hell.

However, the suspicions were found to be completely benign. As a thorough search was conducted of the watchpoint they were found asleep in the sniper nest. Shortly followed by their rude wake up call by the one who found one.

His voice echoed loudly in their hungover ear drums, “Brother! You pervert! You know a night with a pretty lady isn’t supposed to end in a black eye, right?”


End file.
